Missing You
by louella
Summary: Dempsey's undercover again and Makepeace doesn't like it.
1. Chapter 1

Dempsey wiped his hand over his face. He was at an old-fashioned pub in Stockwell, trying to find intelligence on arms smuggling across the Irish border. He'd spent three weeks now being Jimmy O'Malley, the son of Irish Americans who was in London to help the old country in its fight against the Brits.

The job had been going well. He'd made inroads within the Irish community in Stockwell, had learned some names that would be good to look into. It was slow going though. The Irish guys were cautious and Dempsey knew he'd have to be patient if he wanted to win their trust.

Dempsey checked his watch. Five to one in the morning. Most pubs closed at eleven but this one sometimes had a lock-in, staying open later than the legal opening hours for regulars. In Dempsey's experience, pubs that took a relaxed view on licensing laws often attracted clientele that took a relaxed view on other things. It was a good place to do his job but a horrible place to be, with its sticky carpets and nicotine-stained celling, its loud women and short-tempered men.

Still, the Guinness was good. He finished his pint and was about to slide off the stool to go home when a matronly woman he'd met earlier dropped her hand on his sleeve.

"Not leaving already, Jimmy?"

"Hey, Maggie," Dempsey said easily. "Time to call it a night, darlin'. Gotta get my beauty sleep, you know."

She tutted at him. "We both know that's not true, Jimmy. What is it, have you a girl you need to get back to?"

"My girl's back in the States. Hope she'll be able to get over here soon." This was the cover story he'd fixed on but it felt a little odd saying it.

Dempsey stuck it out while Maggie cooed her sympathy at him. He knew that Maggie could be useful – she seemed to know most of the regulars and could make some useful introductions – but he was tired and keen get moving.

After a couple of minutes, Maggie managed to extract a promise that he'd come back the next evening to watch the live band. She told him proudly that her son Sean was the singer. He told her he wouldn't miss it and she allowed him to go.

He pulled his jacket closer around him as he left. It was early July, and even though it was late the sun had only been down a couple of hours and the evening was mild. He thought about Jimmy O'Malley, a chancer who was looking to make a few bucks while sticking it to the Brits at the same time. A man with low standards and dirty habits. It had only been three weeks but already he could feel the grime of O'Malley's lifestyle rubbing off on him.

His feet were carrying him through the quiet London streets while he lost himself in thought. He couldn't afford to let his guard down when he was being O'Malley but he worried that he would lose himself in the process.

Forty minutes later he stopped walking and looked up. He was kind of surprised to see Harry's townhouse in front of him. It hadn't been a conscious decision to come here but he was glad all the same.

He couldn't see her for the duration of the undercover, it would be too dangerous, both for her and for him. But he was drawn to her home somehow and didn't think twice.

He checked there was no one around then let himself quietly into her hall. As he pulled he key from the lock he paused for a moment and looked at it before dropping it back into his pocket. She'd given it to him a few months ago – got tired of him breaking in, she'd said, he may as well use the front door like a civilised human. He carried it with him on his own keyring. He figured it must mean she trusted him, at least a little. He hoped so anyway.

Not the first time he'd turned to Harry in the middle of a difficult undercover job. Johnny Lupino had needed her too. Hell, James Dempsey needed her.

He crept quietly up the stairs. Her bedroom door was not quite closed and he pushed at it, easing himself in. A little light filtered through her blinds, enough for him to make out the shapes in front of him. Dempsey felt a calmness wash over him, just knowing that he was in the same space as her, able to hear her breathing. He looked at Harry's sleeping form and blinked. For a moment he couldn't work out what he was seeing. Harry was lying peacefully on her side, eyes closed, facing him. A man was snuggled up asleep behind her.

oOo

Harry woke early, her heart racing and her skin flushed. She'd been dreaming of him again, the partner she hadn't seen for weeks. He'd been reaching for her, calling her name, and she'd held out her arms to him but he'd slipped away. She'd run towards him, desperate to catch him, and eventually she'd felt him solid beneath her fingers and she'd inched her arms around him, pulling him close. She'd felt his breath on her skin and had turned her face to his, their lips only moments apart, when she'd woken with a start.

She closed her eyes and rolled onto her back, her eyes snapping open again as she remembered she wasn't alone. Gingerly she turned her head and winced as she saw Jasper lying alongside her. Shit shit shit. She eased herself carefully out of her bed and gathered up her clothes, hoping she'd be able to make it out of the shower before he woke.

In the end she got as far as the kitchen, scrambling eggs and buttering toast, before she heard Jasper on the stairs. She poured him a coffee and waved him towards the kitchen table. "Morning," she said. "Hungry?"

"Yes please," he said, grinning. He took a sip of his coffee as she brought over their plates and slid into a chair opposite him. Picking up a fork he glanced at Harry. A blush was rising up his neck. He said, "I, er. It was good to bump into you yesterday. I mean, obviously good."

Harry smiled across at him. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Three and a half years."

Harry concentrated on slicing up her toast and scooping up her egg. "Yes," she said. She'd been out with Angela and the girls last night when they'd bumped into Jasper and his friends at the club. She hadn't seen him for years, not since they'd broken up. They'd dated for a few months in the window between the end of her marriage and the arrival of Dempsey but had separated on good terms when he'd wanted more and she hadn't been ready.

But last night she'd been feeling vulnerable and lonely. She was well past the denial phase. He'd been undercover now for three weeks and she was missing him. Not in the way she should miss a colleague. In the wrenching, terrifying way that showed her exactly what he meant.

So when she'd seen Jasper, a kind man who she'd once been fond of, she'd been happy to share a drink with him. In the darkness of the club she'd leant against him, taking comfort from the warmth of his familiar body. It wasn't the right body, but Jasper was keen to rekindle their affair and it was easy to fall in line. She invited him back to her house and back into her bed because she longed to feel wanted again and she knew Jasper wanted her.

Jasper pushed his plate away and finished his coffee. "Harry," he said deliberately, and Harry's stomach sank. "I really enjoyed last night. Do you think we could do it again?"

Harry's pause was the only answer he needed. "I'm sorry," she said.

Jasper's face fell. "Is there someone else?"

"No," she sighed. "But I'm… not available. I really am sorry." She leaned over and squeezed his hand. Jasper was a decent man and she hadn't treated him well, not something she was happy about.

Fortunately, Jasper was too kind to make it difficult for her. He gave a small shrug. "Can't blame a man for trying."

She smiled at him gratefully before catching a glimpse of the clock on the kitchen wall. "It's late," she said, "I need to get to the office."

Jasper cleared their breakfast crockery into the sink and started to gather his belongings. Harry went to the hall to fetch his coat, pausing for a moment as she reached for it. She gave her head a tiny shake. She could sense him, could smell him. He'd been here in her hallway. She took a breath, feeling shaken, wanting to capture his presence around her like a blanket.

A thought struck her. He wouldn't have come just to stand in her hall. What if he'd seen Jasper? She couldn't think about that now. Grabbing Jasper's coat she went back to the kitchen and ushered him out of her house, planting a distracted kiss on his cheek as he left.

oOo

The band was OK, Dempsey guessed. Maggie's son Sean had a good voice and they were playing crowd pleasers well enough that a couple of the regulars had got up to dance.

Dempsey was on his third pint. He knew he should be keeping his wits about him but the temptation to dull the edges a little was too strong to resist. The image of Harry in the sack with some other guy had been tearing at him all day.

Maggie bustled over, a glass of gin and lemon in her hand. Dempsey nodded towards Sean. "Should be very proud."

"Oh I am, right enough," she said. "He's a good boy. But what are you doing standing over here all by yourself? Come and join us, sweetheart." Maggie led him across to a booth and they slid in alongside a couple of guys that Dempsey had seen around the place a few times before.

"Jimmy O'Malley," he said, offering his hand.

"I'm Dermot Murphy, mate. Good to meet you. Any friend of Maggie's and all that." They shook hands and Dempsey nodded at the others. His brain was ticking over. He was sure he'd heard the name Dermot Murphy before, thought he was probably someone worth getting to know a bit better.

They chatted about the band for a moment and Dempsey gave them his cover story about his Irish-American family back in the States. The band took a break and Dempsey offered to get a round in. Murphy came to give him a hand at the bar.

Dempsey held a note in his hand, trying to catch the eye of the barmaid. Murphy said, "So, what keeps you busy while you're over here, Jimmy?"

"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. Whatever I can do to make a buck or two, really."

"That so, is it?"

"I'm pretty handy. Good with the cars. And if it does over the Brits at the same time, all the better."

Murphy gave him a long look. "You got experience as a driver then, Jimmy?"

"I've done a few jobs." He gave his order to the barmaid then turned again to Murphy. "You know of anything going off that I could help with?"

The barmaid returned with their drinks and Murphy took a couple of pints in his hands. Dempsey paid as Murphy turned to go back to the booth. "Maybe," he said to Dempsey, over his shoulder.

The rest of the evening passed easily enough, with the band providing a lively soundtrack and Maggie leading the conversation in the booth. By the time Dempsey left he was a litle worse for wear and he walked the twenty minutes to the bedsit it was staying in. He flicked a switch and the bare lightbulb let out a dirty glow, enough for him to see the single bed with the thin blankets, the sink in the corner with his dinner things still in it, the trash bag in the corner with his clothes stuffed in.

He pulled off his shoes and socks and pulled his belt through the loops. His jeans fell to the floor and he picked them up, frowning as his bunch of keys fell out of a pocket. He flung his jeans onto the pile with the other clothes and bent down to pick up the keys, wincing a little as the Guinness and the whiskey made his head spin. He dropped down onto the bed in his t-shirt and boxers, the keys still in his hand.

The room was horrible. The dingy lightbulb, the peeling wallpaper, the damp patch by the sink. There was nothing here of James Dempsey, nothing homely and warm, it was Jimmy O'Malley through and through, and frankly, Jimmy was a loser.

Dempsey looked down at the keys in his hand. Turned them around until he found hers. Squeezed it hard between his fingers, thinking about her house, the warm fire in the grate, the soft couch. He missed her house. He missed her. He looked again at the keys, thinking of the man in her bed, then threw them across the room towards the dirty laundry pile.

**AN: Chapter 2 is nearly ready, hope you have enjoyed this one.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you so much for the lovely comments on Chapter 1. Hope you enjoy Chapter 2 :)**

Harry looked at the calendar on her desk. It had been a month. A month now since Dempsey had begun this undercover role. He was supposed to check in with her and during the first few weeks he'd left regular messages to let her know how we was getting on. But she hadn't heard anything from him since the night with Jasper, the night he'd been at hers.

She pushed her hands through her hair, then looked up as Spikings walked through the squad room into his office. She stood up from her desk and followed him in.

"Sir," she said, "I think we need to think about calling Dempsey in."

"Why is that, Sergeant?"

"I haven't heard anything from him for a week and we don't know what he's doing, who he's dealing with."

"Oh but –"

"He could be in danger and we have a duty to assess the risk he could be under."

"Yes, but –"

"And you know what he's like, he could be getting up to all sorts of things he shouldn't."

"Sergeant, please."

Harry ground to a halt. "Sir," she said.

"Harry, I've heard from Dempsey. He's called me at home a couple of times this week."

Harry sank down into the chair opposite Spikings's desk. "You've spoken to him."

"Yes. Said he couldn't call in during the daytime because of his cover story and he didn't want to bother you at home at night."

"Not bother me. Right."

"But he's making progress, things are moving. He's not in any particular danger, so you can rest easy on that point my girl."

Harry nodded and mumbled a thank you as she went back to her own desk. As she sat down noticed her hands were shaking and she crossed her arms in front of her. He'd cut her out. She didn't know why, but he'd gone to Spikings instead of her and she was stunned.

oOo

Dempsey sat up in bed, rubbing at his eyes. It was late to be waking, but he was living Jimmy O'Malley's hours now and the guy was a real night owl.

He stared around the bedsit, wondering why his undercover roles seemed always to involve low-lifes and bums. One day he'd bag an undercover as a millionaire playboy, he must be owed that by now.

At least the job was progressing well. He'd called Spikings yesterday to update him on his plans for tonight, told him he was going to meet Murphy and a guy called Paddy Byrne at a place in Camden Town. It sounded to Dempsey like Byrne might have connections to an Irish paramilitary group, which could mean he was into the end phase of this job. He hoped he was, he wanted it to be over with so he could go back to his own home, his own life. Then he found himself thinking about her again, and her new man, and he thought he probably needed to stop looking forward to going back.

Giving himself a shake he threw off the blankets and took himself to the grotty shared shower. He dressed and picked up a takeaway before heading out to meet Murphy and Byrne.

The pub in Camden was a lot like the one in Stockwell – same dark wood panelling, same swirling pattern in the carpet, three types of stout but only one type of wine. Dempsey bought a whiskey and took it took a small table in a dark corner.

It wasn't long before Murphy arrived, smiling at Dempsey and introducing him to Byrne. As Dempsey and Byrne shook hands, Byrne said, "My man Dermot here reckons you might be pretty useful."

Dempsey smiled and shrugged. "I get by." He offered to get in a round of drinks and by the time he got back to the table he found Murphy and Byrne in the middle of a discussion about Irish politics. Dempsey didn't know enough to join in but nodded along when expected. A couple of rounds later and Dempsey decided to get things moving. At the next lull in the conversation he said, "So Paddy, you just a talker about the Emerald Isle or do you walk the walk as well?"

Byrne looked at him consideringly. "Been known to get my hands dirty."

"I bet you have," said Dempsey, laughing quietly. "I like the sound of that."

"That right, so it is? You ever done that sort of thing yourself?"

Dempsey sat back, nodding a little. "Done a bit of driving. Never had any complaints."

"Can be dangerous though."

"I know that some people struggle to get across the border without attracting attention. But I came over here on a Canadian passport, so it's a piece of cake."

Byrne stared at him. "Thought you were a Yank."

Dempsey grinned. "Born and bred. The passport is..." He shrugged.

"Fake?"

"I prefer to say artistic."

Byrne and Murphy laughed. Murphy headed to the bar to fetch another round of drinks and Byrne leaned in to Dempsey. "Listen," he said, "if you're interested in earning a little something, we'll be planning our next phase in a couple of days."

Dempsey nodded, his palms open. He was in.

On his way home later, Dempsey stopped at a phone box. He dialled Harry's number but hung up before it connected. He called in to Spikings instead.

"I'm meeting them in a couple of days at a safe house in Camden," he said, reeling off the place and time. "I think this could be the start of something useful."

"Very well, Dempsey," said Spikings. "Oh, and you should call in to Harry, you know. She's worried about you."

Dempsey closed his eyes. "I'll try," he lied. "But she knows I'll be fine. Check in again later, Chief." He hung up and carried on back to his bedsit.

oOo

Harry was worried. She'd been working on cold cases while Dempsey was on his undercover – it was interesting work but there weren't many deadlines and Harry found she had too much time on her hands. Too much time to wonder what Dempsey was doing and whether he was in trouble.

She'd just finished her lunch when Spikings took a call from upstairs. She couldn't work out what the problem was but it was easy enough to tell that Spikings was being hauled over the coals about something. He came out of his office and called for Chas, telling him they were going to go and give the brass what for. They swept out together, leaving Harry alone in the squad room.

She looked across at Spikings's open office door. She shouldn't of course. It would be a disciplinary matter. She would never interfere with another officer's investigation. She walked across to the main squad room door and closed it, then went into Spikings's office. Spikings's desk was never particularly tidy and today, true to form, there were papers strewn across it. Peeking out from underneath a file was what she was looking for – the notebook that Spikings always scribbled his messages in. Looking over her shoulder, listening for footsteps, she eased the notebook out from under the file and flicked it open.

Squinting slightly, Harry could make out the details of a phone call Spikings took the night before. Dempsey, a meeting, Dermot Murphy, Paddy Byrne. An address, a time. A date. Tomorrow night.

Harry flipped the notebook closed and slid it back under the file. She ran the names through her head again. Something was ringing a bell. Picking up her handbag she headed down to Records, a worried frown wrinkling her brow.

oOo

Dempsey found himself back in the pub in Stockwell. Maggie was there with her daughter Kathleen and he bought them a couple of drinks. Maggie looked at him closely. "What's the matter with you Jimmy?" she asked. "You look rough as a ferret's fanny."

Dempsey gave a small chuckle. He felt rough, worried about the big meet tomorrow night with Murphy and Byrne, not able to sleep in the crummy bedsit. Still, he shook his head. "Nah," he said. "I'm just peachy."

"You look pretty fine to me," said Kathleen, sliding a little closer to him and placing a hand briefly on his knee. Dempsey smiled at her but leaned away. Maggie noticed and gave a sympathetic smile to her daughter.

"Don't worry, Kathleen," she said to Kathleen. "He's got a girl back home."

"Home's a long way away, though, Jimmy," said Kathleen, turning clear green eyes on him.

"Sorry, Kathleen," he said. "Spoken for." Kathleen smiled and rolled her eyes, heading back to the bar in search of easier prey.

Maggie said, "You must miss her. Your girl back home."

An image of Harry flashed through Dempsey's mind. "Yeah," he muttered. "I do." He finished his pint and picked up his jacket. "Calling it a night, Maggie," he said. "Say goodbye to Kathleen for me." She patted his hand fondly and watched as he headed out into the night.

Dempsey started walking towards his bedsit but the thought of the scratchy sheets and stained carpet was more than he could stand. He changed direction. He knew it was a bad idea but he needed her, couldn't stay away. He found himself outside hers, her key in his hand.

All the lights were off and there weren't any unfamiliar cars in the drive, but that didn't mean she was alone. He absolutely should not go in. He turned the key in the lock.

Pausing in the hallway, he listened hard for signs of life, ready to back away, but the house was silent. He crept slowly up the stairs. Harry's bedroom door was ajar and he pushed it open, a little at a time, until he could edge himself around.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness of her room, so he stood for a moment, just listening to the sound of breathing. Gradually the bedroom began to take shape and he looked carefully at the bed. Let out a whoosh of breath as he saw she was alone, relief flooding through him. He crouched down by the side of her bed so he could see her face as she slept. Carefully he reached out a hand and ran a finger along her hairline, breathing in the smell of her. Giving his head a little shake, he took himself across to the armchair across the room. Sinking down he stretched out his legs and took a deep breath. For the first time in weeks he felt peace.

oOo

Harry woke before her alarm. She opened her eyes and stretched, then sat up quickly in her bed, certain there was something wrong. She looked around, nothing amiss. She breathed in and worked it out. He'd been there again, in her bedroom this time. She slipped out of bed and walked to her armchair, where the cushions were disturbed and the scent of him was strongest. She slid her fingers along the back of the chair, where he would have rested his head.

Harry closed her eyes and shook her head. This was ridiculous. How dare he just wander in while she was sleeping? When he wouldn't even call in to talk to her about the case?

But she knew she wasn't really angry. Really she was wrapping herself up in the memory of him. She rolled her eyes at her weakness, but she hadn't been awake in the same room as him for weeks and she would grab her comfort where she could. She sat down in the chair, pulling her knees to her chest and closing her eyes, her body pressing into the cushions.

After a few minutes she forced herself up, cursing her neediness. There was no point hanging around so she showered quickly and headed to work. As she walked into the office she saw Chas, pouring himself a coffee from the machine in the corner. She wandered over to him, relieved that they were the only two in the squad room.

Harry thought back to the names she'd seen scribbled in Spikings's notebook. She'd tried to find information about them in Records but nothing had come up. Still, she was sure she recognised them from somewhere and maybe Chas could help.

Staring up at him, she asked quietly, "Have you ever heard of a Dermot Murphy? Or a Paddy Byrne?"

Chas looked at her, surprised. These weren't names connected with any of the operations he was aware of. But Harry wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, so he dragged through his memory bank to try and help.

"Nothing for Dermot Murphy," he said, drumming his fingers against his hip. "Paddy Byrne, Paddy Byrne… yeah. Think it was him."

"Go on," urged Harry.

"Think he was the subject of an undercover operation a few years ago. Before they formed SI10. Don't know the details but I think Byrne played along until the last minute so the undercover officer went ahead with the takedown." Chas took a sip of coffee and sighed. "But Byrne had been prepared, shots were fired. They reckoned Byrne pulled the trigger but they couldn't pin it on him. Haven't heard anything about him since."

"He rumbled an undercover operation and shot an officer?"

"About the size of it. Why?"

Harry shook her head. She wasn't supposed to know anything about Dempsey's meet, Spikings was in charge. But the meet was tonight and Harry was worried.


	3. Chapter 3

Dempsey checked the bullets in his Magnum then slid it into his holster. He threw the A to Z onto the bed and headed out to the safehouse where he was due to meet Murphy and Byrne. They hadn't told him the details of the operation but it seemed to involve moving a cargo from a warehouse in the outskirts of Dublin to a drop in the North.

The safehouse was in a row of shabby looking terraced houses, most of which had been split up into smaller flats. Not the sort of place where people paid attention to the comings and goings of their neighbours. Dempsey knocked on the door and Murphy showed him through.

There was a grimy-looking kitchen at the back of the house and Byrne was bent over the table, looking at a large map. He looked up at Dempsey and muttered a greeting. Dempsey pulled up a chair and traced a route with his finger. Murphy opened a couple of cans of lager while Dempsey and Byrne began discussing the best way of getting a crate across the Irish border.

After a few minutes, Dempsey sat back to take a slug from the can. Byrne looked at him closely. "Think you can handle this?" he said.

Dempsey swallowed his mouthful of lager and let out a small belch. "No worries about me, pal," he said, waving a hand in front of his face. "Done a tonne of driving jobs in the States."

"Haven't had to get across an international border though."

"Piece of cake. Listen, you got any questions, you just go ask Eddie Malone out in Mile End. He'll vouch for me." Eddie Malone was an East End gangster who owed Dempsey a favour and Dempsey had clued him in. If Byrne did decide to look into Dempsey's references, Malone would back him up.

Byrne nodded and said, "Sure that won't be necessary." He opened a new can of lager and took a swig. "Any friend of Maggie's a friend of mine."

Dempsey smiled and turned to Murphy. "Yep. She's a great girl."

Byrne laughed. "She certainly is. And her old man too, Seamus. What a guy."

Dempsey smiled, thinking hard. He thought Maggie had mentioned a Seamus. He said, "Sure."

Sitting back in his chair, Byrne said, "Hard as nails, of course, is Seamus."

Dempsey nodded. "You wouldn't mess with him."

Byrne caught Murphy's eye while Dempsey leaned forward over the map. "He's a real wise guy," Byrne said and Dempsey chuckled.

Dempsey picked up a pen and made a mark on the map. "We could make a stop-off here and then –" Dempsey came to a stop as felt a muzzle pressing into his back. "Hey, man, whatcha doing?"

The gun was being held by Murphy. Byrne stared across the table at Dempsey, who was holding out his palms in surprise. "Don't act the idiot, O'Malley. If your name even is O'Malley."

Dempsey thought fast. "Man, I don't know what you're talking about. I told ya, go check with Malone."

Dempsey grunted as the gun was shoved harder into his back. Bryrne said, "Maggie's old man's been in the grave these last dozen years. And she's got no relations called Seamus. You'd think a friend of Maggie's would know that."

Dempsey said, "Seamus? You said Seamus? I thought you said Sean."

"What you mean her son Sean? Give it up O'Malley. I've been asking around about you and you don't have any history."

Dempsey blustered, "I aint been in England that long," but Byrne cut him off.

"Not interested. Last time I came across a guy with no past like you I nearly paid for it. Not making the same mistake again." Byrne tilted his head towards Murphy. "Get him out of here."

For a moment Dempsey thought about making a grab for Murphy's gun but then he saw that Byrne had trained his own weapon on him. No chance of taking them both out, no chance of getting to his own gun. He felt sweat begin to bead on his brow as he realised his options were limited. Grunting, he felt Murphy grip his elbow and lever him to his feet. Byrne patted him down and found the Magnum. "I'll take this," he said, shoving the gun into the back of his waistband. Dempsey tried to resist being pushed along but Murphy was surprisingly strong and Byrne's gun aim never wavered.

As they reached the front door, Dempsey aimed a kick behind him at Murphy's knees. Murphy tumbled to the floor, crying in pain. Dempsey grabbed for his gun as it fell from his fingers but Byrne was there first, a gun now in each hand, both pointing his way. Putting up his hands he said, "Alright, alright, I'm coming." Murphy clambered back to his feet and bundled Dempsey through the front door and into the back of a car parked outside.

Murphy took his gun back from Byrne and followed Dempsey into the back seat. Gunning the engine Byrne set off into the night. He looked into his rear view mirror and caught Dempsey's eye. "We're not going to do you in the safehouse. Too many people to come looking. Gonna take you somewhere a bit quieter like."

Murphy shoved the muzzle of his gun into Dempsey's side. "Don't make it difficult for yourself," he said. "It'll be better for you if you behave."

Dempsey's mind was racing. He knew the job was dangerous but he'd never really expected to be hurt. He'd got himself out of difficult situations time and again, something had always turned up, but it didn't look like he'd be able to talk his way out of this one. As the muzzle poked harder into his ribs, he thought about the things he'd like to have done, things he now might not have the chance to do. He didn't want to die with regrets but he may not have any choice. A flash of blue eyes and a scent of clean perfume ran through his mind. If by some miracle he got out of this, he'd make sure he had no regrets. He turned to Murphy and opened his mouth, thinking he could maybe offer some sort of deal, but before he'd had chance to speak Murphy clipped him in the temple with the barrel of the gun and Dempsey's vision faded to black.

oOo

Harry was torn. She couldn't call for backup, wasn't supposed to be anywhere near this operation, and from her vantage point along the street she couldn't see enough to be sure Dempsey was in trouble. But there was something about the way he got into the back of that car that nagged at her. She turned the key in the ignition and began to follow.

oOo

Gradually the pounding in Dempsey's head receded and he was able to open his eyes. He reached instinctively for his gun but found that his hands were secured behind him. Blinking at the harsh light, he could see that he was sitting on a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse floor. He tried to stand but his ankles were tied together and his body was bound to the chair. He relaxed himself back down carefully so as not to tip the chair over.

He heard a voice from behind him. Byrne. "You're awake then." Dempsey watched as Byrne walked into his eyeline, the gun still in his hand. "You're not getting out of here alive," he said. "So you either talk and we end it quickly, or you mess us around and it gets messy."

Dempsey swallowed. "Got nothing to say to you."

Byrne edged closer. "You working on your own? Or is there a group of you? Do I have to break up the network?"

Shaking his head, Dempsey said, "You're making a big mistake, bud." Byrne stepped closer and struck Dempsey across the head, making his ears ring and his vision blur.

"Don't play games with me, O'Malley. We got plenty of time here. I'll find out what I need to know so don't make it hard on yourself."

Dempsey's head was splitting. Byrne made a show of looking at his watch, yawning as he waited for Dempsey to speak. Shaking his head, Dempsey said, "I don't know nothing. You kill me all you'll end up with is the cops on your tail and a corpse you'll have to explain away." Out of the corner of his eye Dempsey spotted Murphy, who was standing in the kitchenette area over in a far corner. He was looking out of the small window, presumably keeping guard. Dempsey's only hope was to keep them talking long enough for him to figure out something better. Not much of a hope.

From his position in the chair Dempsey could see both Byrne, who was beginning to look twitchy and bored, and Murphy. He turned his head a little to take in the rest of his surroundings. Murphy was in the kitchenette, which was next to a stretch of large shelving units. At the end of the shelves was an internal door that seemed to give onto some sort of office. The door was slightly open but no light came through the crack.

Blinking, Dempsey saw that the door now seemed to be open a little wider than before. Some instinct kept his face straight – Byrne hadn't noticed anything amiss. Dempsey kept his focus on Byrne, who was asking him again who else was involved in the undercover sting. He spat out some vague answers while trying not to show that he was keeping an eye on the door.

Byrne was becoming impatient, his questions getting shorter and louder. Dempsey began to shout back, hoping the noise would act as cover for whatever was happening behind that office door. He sensed movement in his peripheral vision and caught his breath. It was Harry! He had no idea what she was doing in the warehouse but she had her gun drawn and was moving silently towards the shelving units and the kitchenette.

Dempsey was trying to keep track of the questions Byrne was throwing at him so Byrne wouldn't lose patience and look around. He needed to buy Harry some time, so he decided to spin Byrne a little yarn. "Alright, alright," he mumbled. "It's only a small team. Just me and two other guys."

Byrne moved closer so he could hear Dempsey. "Have I met them?"

Over his shoulder, Dempsey could see Harry reach the end of the shelving units. She was creeping towards Murphy, who was still keeping lookout at the window. Dempsey said, "Nah, they've been based in a different pub. I've been checking in with them, don't think they've been able to get

anywhere."

"Not sure I'm happy to take your word on that, O'Malley," Byrne growled near Dempsey's ear. Dempsey took a breath as he saw Harry reach Murphy, landing a solid blow in the back of his neck that sent him collapsing to the floor.

Byrne seemed distracted by the sound and made to turn. Quickly, Dempsey said, "You're right. One of the other guys has been getting friendly with Maggie's daughter Kathleen."

This caught Byrne's attention long enough for Harry to draw her gun and point it towards his back. "Police!" she shouted. "Drop your weapon."

Byrne swung around towards Harry and Dempsey kicked out with his feet, knocking him over, his gun falling from his hand as he fell. Keeping her gun trained on Byrne, Harry ran towards the two men and picked up Byrne's gun. She dropped the gun in Dempsey's lap then bent to put cuffs on a struggling Byrne. Once he was secured she retrieved Dempsey's Magnum from his waistband and took it over to Dempsey. She released his hands and he took hold of the gun, covering her while she dashed to put cuffs on the unconscious Murphy.

With both Byrne and Murphy now unarmed and in cuffs, Dempsey allowed himself to breathe. He looked over at Harry, who was walking slowly towards him, Murphy's gun in one hand and her own the in other. When she reached him she dropped the guns in his lap and set about untying his feet and pulling off the tape that bound him to the chair. She worked silently. He bent his head a little, smelt a trace of her shampoo, and it was too much. He'd missed her like breathing. As soon as he was free of the bindings he stood, pulling her to him like she was saving him from drowning, his arms tight around her, his face in her hair.

He felt his heartrate slowing as he softened against her, urging her arms around him, breathing her in. He could hear her murmuring soothing sounds in his ear. They clung together for a moment, their breathing gradually coming under control, the adrenaline receding. Dempsey became aware that he was no longer holding onto Harry for comfort, that the feel of her pressing along the length of his body was provoking another sort of emotion entirely, and he eased himself away.

"I don't know why you're here, Princess," he murmured, "but I'm very glad you are."

Harry reached up and put a finger to his cheek. "Long story," she said. She became aware of sounds to her left and she turned to see Byrne trying to shuffle across to Murphy. "Oh no you don't," she said, kicking him so hard in the ribcage he gasped for breath. Dempsey raised his eyebrows at her. She shrugged. "He was going to kill you."

"Yeah, I got that." Still, Dempsey was surprised at Harry's violence towards Byrne. He looked over towards the kitchenette, where Murphy was beginning to stir. "Backup on its way?"

Harry looked at little uncomfortable. "Flying solo I'm afraid. RT's in the car. Can you keep an eye on these two while I call to base?"

"Sure, but." He grabbed hold of Harry's elbow as she made to leave. "You came out here on your own? What're you thinking?"

"Thinking about saving your skin, Dempsey," she snapped. "And it's a good job I did or you'd be in a shallow grave by now. Although to be honest I'm now wondering why I bothered." She pulled her elbow free and strode off toward the exit.

From his position on the floor, Byrne said, "You got your hands full there, mate."

Dempsey shrugged. "Wouldn't have it any other way."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you to those who've left reviews, it's really encouraging to hear that people are reading and enjoying the story. Special thanks to KayM, who doesn't have an account so I can't message her, but her review was very helpful in getting a tricky bit of this story back on track. Hope you enjoy the next part. Lou x**

Makepeace pulled up outside her townhouse and sighed in relief. Safe to say that Spikings had not been impressed by her moonlighting in the warehouse and she'd been on the wrong end of a lengthy carpeting. She hadn't seen Dempsey since they'd got back to the station – Spikings had kept them apart so that their statements would be independent. When she'd finished with Spikings, she'd asked Chas if he knew where Dempsey was but he'd said he'd already gone.

She was exhausted. The strain of the worry about Dempsey over the last few weeks was catching up with her and that, combined with the comedown from the scene in the warehouse, had taken it out of her. All she wanted as she got out of her car was a large glass of wine, a hot bath and an early night.

She unlocked her front door and walked into her hallway. Even before she'd hung up her coat she knew, could sense him. "Dempsey!" she called, striding into her front room. There he was.

oOo

Dempsey looked up as he heard her key in the lock. He'd told the guys at the base that he'd do his debrief tomorrow and slipped out of SI10 almost as soon as he'd arrived. He'd seen Harry locked in with the Chief and figured he'd let her get on with it, hoping Spikings would've cooled a little after a good night's sleep.

But he'd found he hadn't wanted to go back to his place. He'd wanted someone to help rinse away the dirt of Jimmy O'Malley from his life. There was only one place he wanted to be, and luckily he had a key.

He'd had to wait a few hours – Spikings must have given her proper bollocking – and he'd spent the time trying not to think about her, about how he'd felt when he'd thought Byrne was going to kill him. His mind had conjured up images of her, smiling at him, snuggling into him, he'd imagined the scent of her perfume, the feel of her soft hands on his skin. These were the sensations that had flown through his mind when he'd thought his time was up and he'd been pushing them out of his mind ever since.

His thoughts kept going round in circles. He knew she had someone now. He hated to think of her wrapping herself around some other man, maybe a man with the right accent and the right connections, because he couldn't compete with that. But that was fine, because he didn't want that from her. He wanted his partner back, that was all.

The clock on the mantlepiece was slowly ticking. He hadn't been able to sit still so had found himself prowling around her sitting room, counting down the minutes until she came back. And now she was here, standing in the doorway, staring at him.

He walked towards her, stopping close in front of her. He looked at her and forgot everything. Forgot about the other guy, about how unsuitable he was for her, about how she'd rejected every single one of his advances nearly three years. She consumed him. She was everything he needed and he just couldn't stop himself.

He took her head in his hands, his fingers in her hair, his thumbs against the pulse point on her throat. His eyes roamed across her face, moving from eyes to her lips and back again. "I thought I was going to die," he said, his voice rough and urgent. "I thought he was going to kill me and all I could think of was this," and he swooped his head down to hers, taking her lips in a deep, hungry kiss.

He felt her gasp into his mouth and he invaded with his tongue, tasting her sweetness, seeking more. He slid his arms around her, pulling her body into him, his senses on fire at the taste of her lips and the feel of her skin.

He heard the thud of her bag as it hit the floor, her hands rising to his hair as she deepened their kiss. His mind was whirling, the heat from her fingers against his scalp making blood rush through his body, his arousal swift as she pressed herself against him. He felt like he was drowning in her, his heart slamming in his chest, every nerve alive to the sense of her.

It took a moment before he recognised what was happening. He was acting on instinct, trying to deepen the kiss, but she was pulling away, saying no, stop, please. Her hands were on his chest, pushing, and he took a step backwards, surprised and confused.

"I said no," she said, her eyes wide and her lips still swollen. She was panting, pushing her hand through her hair. "I said no."

He shook his head and dragged in a ragged breath. She had not been saying no, he was certain of that. He leaned in towards her, wanting to take hold of her, to reassure her that he wasn't going to do anything she didn't want to do, but she flinched away. He wondered what to do with his hands.

"Harry," he tried, but she put her hand up near his face and turned away.

"I think you should go," she said.

He couldn't understand what had happened. She'd been on fire for him when he'd touched her but now she'd turned on the ice again and he was floundering. "Harry," he said, "please," but she just looked at the floor as she held the door open for him.

Dempsey was still fighting down the desire she'd lit in him but her message was clear. Too late, he remembered the other man. Christ, he shouldn't have done it. Should have kept his longing inside him like he'd been doing for years. He dragged his hand through his hair then picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. She wouldn't meet his eye, her gaze glued to the floor, so he walked out of the living room and out of her house.

oOo

On shaky legs Harry walked to her sofa and dropped down, her elbows resting on her knees and her head in her hands. Oh God, what had she done?

He would know now. He'd know how much she wanted him. She'd held him off for years but tonight his lips had brushed hers and her defences had crumbled. It had taken a superhuman effort to walk away when every atom of her being urged her to carry on, to grab the fulfilment that only he could offer, but thankfully she'd found the strength to resist.

She'd tried to deny her attraction to Dempsey. It had been easier before, when he'd first come to London, because he'd been annoying and rude and she'd been able to tell herself there was no chance she could desire someone she didn't even like.

But over the months she'd come to respect his police work and understand that the gruffness concealed a warm and open heart. She'd begun to enjoy his company, and that had been dangerous, because if she both liked him and fancied him, where did that leave her?

It left her wanting something she couldn't have. She wasn't stupid enough to think he felt anything more for her than physical attraction – she'd seen enough of Dempsey's women come and go to know that he wasn't looking for commitment. And she cared too much to be able to handle a meaningless fling, so that was that.

But God, how was she going to carry on working with him after this? How would she be able to face him, knowing now without any doubt how easily she responded to him, how incredible if felt to be in his arms, against his lips.

Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath. She'd stopped him before things had gone too far and she needed to cling on to that. She might not be able to deny her own feelings any longer but there was no need to for Dempsey to find out.

oOo

Dempsey poured himself a generous shot of bourbon and drank it standing up. He poured another, then picked up both the glass and the bottle and took them over to the couch.

He knew it wasn't really the answer but for now all he wanted was to blot out the feel of her lips against his. The memory was driving him crazy, aching for her, the warmth and softness of her body, the taste of her skin. He drained the glass.

For a blissful moment he'd been so sure she felt the same as him, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She'd melted against him, her touch igniting the longing in him, but then she'd pushed him away, just as he'd always feared she would.

He'd wanted her for so long now it was something he carried around with him without even noticing. He'd covered it with humour and casual flirtation but really this was it for him. No other woman would do.

He hadn't meant to kiss her. For Chrissakes, he knew there was someone else, he'd seen it with his own eyes. He'd always known that acting on his feelings would lead to almost-certain rejection and quite likely put a wrench in his career at the same time. But he'd been feeling raw and vulnerable after the undercover job and when she'd stepped into the room looking so beautiful he hadn't been able to stop himself.

If nothing else it had put an end to his occasional daydream that one day she might let him in. There was no denying it now – he would never be good enough for her. No matter how strong his feelings for her, they would never be enough. He picked up the bottle of bourbon and carried it through to his bedroom.

oOo

The squad room was dark and only Spikings remained. It had been a difficult day. Dempsey had returned from his undercover role and had spent much of the morning in his office giving his briefing on the Byrne operation. Dempsey had been careful to ensure that his report hadn't implicated Harry in breaching protocol but Spikings had been able to read between the lines to figure out that Harry's rescue was at the very edge of acceptable policing behaviour. Still, the end result had been worth it and Spikings himself hadn't been above breaking a few rules in his time. He'd make sure his officers came out of this with their reputations intact.

The atmosphere had been off, though. Today was the day after the conclusion of a lengthy and dangerous operation. The team should have been celebrating but it had been flat. Dempsey should have been at the centre of the congratulations, the team milling around him ready to listen to his tales of gunslinging and heroics, but today he'd pushed them away and sat quietly at his desk, bent over paperwork.

Harry had also been subdued. She'd spent a large amount of the afternoon taking files to various locations around the building, so much so that she'd seemed hardly to have been in the squad room. It was almost as though she was trying to avoid something.

And he didn't need to be a detective to work out what exactly she was trying to avoid. Spikings sighed and rubbed his hand across his head. Two sheets of paper lay on the desk in front of him and he glanced at them again, before picking them up and slipping them in his jacket pocket and making for the door.

He picked up Dempsey first. "Come on, son," he said. "You're needed." Dempsey wasn't in a talkative mood and sat silent in the passenger seat.

It didn't take long to reach Harry's. Spikings parked the car and got out but Dempsey didn't move. "Out you get," said Spikings. "We're both going in." If Spikings noticed Dempsey's reluctance to go into Harry's house he didn't comment on it.

"Sir," said Harry, as she answered the door. "Dempsey."

"I hope we're not interrupting anything," Spikings said. Harry paused for a moment, as if trying to dredge up an excuse, but Spikings raised his eyebrows and she opened the door wider to allow them both entry.

They stood, slightly awkwardly, in a triangle in the middle of Harry's front room. Harry seemed to remember her manners. "Can I get you anything, Sir?"

"No, thank you Harry, that won't be necessary." He took the two sheets of paper from his jacket pocket and held them, one in each hand. "Earlier on," he said, holding up one of the sheets and pointing at Dempsey, "you slunk into my office and slid this on my desk and then left. Then later, just before you went home," gesturing at Harry, "you dropped this into my in-tray." He held up the other sheet.

Both Harry and Dempsey looked uncomfortable, as well they might. "Sir, I can-" began Harry, but he cut her off with a glare.

"I take it neither of you has told the other about these?" He brandished the papers towards them, scowling as they both shook their heads. "Thought not. Well, let me enlighten you." He handed Dempsey's paper to Harry and Harry's to Dempsey. "I am nothing if not a diligent manager of my team. I will action these requests first thing tomorrow morning. Unless, of course, they are, for any reason at all, withdrawn." He buttoned up his jacket and turned on his heel. "I'll see myself out," he said. Neither Dempsey nor Harry replied.

oOo

Dempsey stared down at the sheet of paper in his hand. It was headed "Transfer Request Form TR01" and it was signed at the bottom with Harry's distinctive signature. The boxes were filled in with words like "CID" and "immediately or as soon as possible" and "opportunity to establish links with a new range of colleagues". His hand was shaking. He turned to Harry but she was staring at her own piece of paper, which he knew was covered with his own handwritten scrawl.

oOo

She was used to deciphering his handwriting by now. No one else could read it, but she found it easy. Too easy, right now. Her throat tightened; it almost hurt to swallow. She dropped the letter onto the coffee table and forced herself to look at him. "You're going back to America."


	5. Chapter 5

Dempsey looked at her. He'd written the letter in a moment of despair. The whole day he'd spent thinking about her rejection of him and it'd gotten harder and harder to picture working alongside her again. He'd thought about how he'd feel if her thing with the other guy got serious, having to watch her grow away from him as she began to lean further towards someone else.

He'd faced the truth: that it was the glimmer of hope that one day they'd be more than colleagues that'd made him look forward to going to work every day. Once that was gone, what was the point? He forced what he hoped was a casual shrug. "Aint nothing keeping me here."

Harry nodded once, slowly. "Right. Of course." She rubbed a hand over her eyebrow. She hadn't really been sure whether she'd follow through with her transfer request. She'd spent the day trying to avoid sharing her space with Dempsey, afraid of giving herself away, afraid of the pain involved in trying to pretend all was normal. Then just as he was leaving he'd passed her in the corridor and she'd caught the smell of him, so strong and familiar, and the twist in her stomach had been enough to propel her into Spikings' office with the form.

Dempsey said, "If you're just trying get away from me, you don't need to. I'll be out of your hair soon as I can get the NYPD paperwork sorted out."

Harry swallowed. There was a CID division in the same building as SI10. She'd imagined she might be able to transfer there, give herself a little space from Dempsey but stay in touch, maybe even pick up their friendship again once the dust had settled. New York was a completely different prospect. "You want to go home," she said.

"No," said Dempsey impatiently. "I already am home Harry. What I want to do is leave." It tore at him, that she was so desperate to get away from him that she'd ditch the job she loved, disrupt her whole career to do it. He didn't want that for her. He sighed. "You don't have to transfer out," he said softly. "You should stay in SI10, where you belong."

"You don't have to go to New York," said Harry. "If I go to CID, you could stay in SI10." She hoped she didn't sound too desperate.

"Oh Harry." Dempsey turned soft eyes towards her. "That won't work."

"Why not? I don't understand."

"Do you remember? I told you once. I don't want to be here without you."

"So stay." They'd edged closer.

"But that's not the whole of it. It's..." He struggled to find the words. "If I'm not with you, I don't want to be here."

He watched as a wrinkle appeared between her eyes. "That doesn't make any sense. You don't want to work here if you can't work with me?"

He laughed, despite himself. "Not work, you crazy broad." He reached out a hand out towards her but dropped it back by his side. "Be with you. Like last night, nearly."

"You don't want to be here if you can't… be with me?"

This time he did touch her, running a finger down the side of her face. "About the size of it, Princess." She was beautiful. He felt like his heart was cracking in two.

She closed her eyes, breathing in. "I'm sorry, Dempsey," she said. "I can't."

"I know that, sweetheart. It's okay, really. You've got your new guy, I'm not the one for you."

"What? No, that's not it. There is no one else." She looked frustrated but he wanted to make it easy for her.

"It doesn't matter. We want different things. But I can't stay and watch any more. Listen, tell Spikings you'll withdraw your transfer request. I'll take vacation time in lieu of notice so I won't be around for long." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Bye, Harry."

He was at the front door when he heard her call, "Wait!" He really didn't want to drag this out any longer but he'd always struggled to refuse her. She was standing in the same place when he got back.

"Why would it be hard for you?" she said. "If you stayed here and we weren't… together." Her hands were in front of her, twisting one over the other.

He looked at the floor, his voice coming from his boots. "Harry, please."

"No, this is important. You said that. What did you mean?"

God, she wanted it all, and he couldn't resist her. He said, "Just… I just want you too much. To be able to work with you but not have you." His hand was in his hair, his eyes at her shoes, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. "Care too much. Hurts too much."

She put a hand on his arm. "But…"

He turned away. "Let me go Harry. Please."

"But Dempsey, I don't understand."

"Chrissake, Harry! What's not to understand! I want to have a relationship with you and you don't feel the same. It's fine. Can we just leave it now please?" She caught his elbow before he could walk away. This was unbearable.

She stared at him, saying, "You… what? Would you say that again?" Dempsey sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Only it sounded like…" He felt her hands at his chest, pulling on his lapels. He turned towards her and then her lips were on his, her hands sliding around his neck, and he felt the flames licking at him again.

He should stop her, he knew it would end up messy, but her tongue was in his mouth and her hands were in his hair and there was no way he was stopping her. She felt perfect next to him, her kisses so sweet, and he pulled her into him, his hands splayed upon her back.

He heard her moan as his lips moved to her throat and it sent flash of white-hot longing straight through him. She was meeting his every move and he needed to feel all of her, to see her, his fingers tugging at her blouse, sliding beneath. His palm smoothed along her ribcage, savouring the velvet smoothness of her skin, then cupped her breast, his thumb swiping across her hard nipple and he felt her buckle in his arms.

The sudden loss of body contact made them both catch their breath. He slid an arm around her, steadying her against him, gulping for air as he struggled for a moment to regain control. She put a hand on his chest and let out a shaky laugh. He gazed at her swollen lips, her flushed cheeks, and heard the rapid rate of her breathing. His stomach flipped. She seemed to want this as much as he did.

"We should slow down," he said, staring at her lips, his voice gravelly with need.

She stood on her tiptoes to brush his lips with hers. "We can slow down" she said, "later." Her lips slid against his throat, sucking at the sensitive flesh behind his ears, and he heard himself moan.

"You want this," he said, a question not a statement, and she mumbled yeses into his mouth, against his skin. His lips trailed lower, reaching the swell of her cleavage. He slipped the buttons of her blouse from their holes, gazing at the perfection of her breasts, encased in a bra of red satin edged with lace. "Makepeace," he growled, "I had not expected that."

"Well now you know," she said, her hands in his hair, pulling him towards her. He placed a row of kisses along the edge of the lace, gradually pushing the fabric away until he reached her pebbled nipple, taking it into his mouth, sucking and licking, feeling her press herself ever more intimately against him.

He slid a supporting arm around her back as she curled herself into him, the feel of her soft body sending him into flames. He dragged his teeth across her breast, nipping at the sensitive peak. She dropped her head back, raising her knee to his hip, and he took hold, wrapping her leg around him, pushing himself into the softness between her legs.

"Dempsey," she moaned, sliding against him, and suddenly it wasn't enough, he had to feel her naked alongside him, needed to sink into her. He caught behind her knees and carried her the few steps to the sofa. Her fingers were at the buttons of his shirt even as he was sliding her blouse down her arms, hands and sleeves getting in the way as they fumbled with the clothing. Eventually the shirt and blouse were disposed of and Dempsey made quicker work of Harry's bra, pausing for a moment at the breathtaking sight of a half-naked Harry before joining her on the sofa, groaning at the feel of skin against skin.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against her throat, losing himself in a haze of desire as she slid her hands across his back, digging her fingers into him as she arched beneath his touch. He shifted his attention to her breasts, touching and tasting, enthralled by her reactions to his caresses. She curled around him, pleading with him for more, but when he felt her fingers at the buttons of his jeans he rolled away, gasping for air and holding her hands still in his.

For a moment the image of Harry in bed with someone else flashed across his memory. He had to be sure, needed her to be sure. "If we don't stop now…" He was on the edge, wouldn't take much to tip him over and then stopping would be unbearable.

She stared back, her eyes blazing, her fingers gripping hard into his shoulder. "I swear to God James Dempsey, if you stop now I will chop it off and you will never do it again."

Dempsey laughed in surprise, a rush of warmth running through him. He leant down to drop a kiss on her lips. "Wouldn't want that," he said, taking her mouth with his, the kiss deepening as the heat built quickly between them. Her fingers returned to his belt and this time he didn't stop her, instead he dealt with the button on her jeans and helped her wriggle out of them and her knickers then kicked his own trousers and shorts away.

Christ, the feel of her naked body alongside his was incredible, the satin softness of her skin, the perfection of her shape, he wanted all of her. He kissed his way down her throat to the valley between her breasts, then lower, down her flat stomach until he reached her centre, opened up to him like the petals on a rose. "So incredible," he said, "want you so much."

He trailed a row of kisses along the inside of her thigh until his mouth reached its goal and he tasted her gently with his tongue. He thought he might drown in her honeyed sweetness, the sound of her gasping for more driving him close to the edge, and he held on to her hips as she quivered beneath his mouth. He drove her further, hands and mouth together, until he felt her tighten around him, her body pulsing with release, and he settled a final kiss on her then moved back up to take her in his arms.

He wanted her desperately, urgently, but was happy to wait until she came back down, dropping little kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, until she turned to him, smiling, and pulled his head down for a slow kiss. His tongue slid against hers, slowly bringing her back up to the peak. His mouth and his hands ranged across her body, the intensity growing, and when she murmured James into his ear, her legs wrapped around him, whispering please, now, he could hold back no longer and slid into her, groaning her name as they joined together.

He'd never felt sensation like it, the feel of her around him, the smell of her perfume and the taste of her skin, every sense overloaded with her, and as he thrust into her he found himself losing all rational thought. Her hips met his stroke for stroke, and as he reached between them she arched and cried out, and he followed in a pool of white heat, her name on his lips as he gathered her close.

oOo

She could hear a bell ringing. Stirring a little, she realised she was lying on the sofa under a blanket and on top of… Apparently, on top of Dempsey. And there was the bell again.

She squinted up at Dempsey, who was easing himself out from under her. "Door," she mumbled.

"Pizza," he said, pulling on his jeans and checking for his wallet. "Coming!" he yelled as the bell rang again.

Harry pushed herself to sitting, feeling a blast of cool air on her skin as the blanket shifted around her. Looking down, she felt a rush of blood in her cheeks as she took in her nakedness. She heard the front door click closed and quickly adjusted the blanket around her. Dempsey came back into the front room and dropped the pizza boxes on the coffee table on the way to the kitchen. "Red or white," he called.

"Um." She pushed a hand through her hair. He was acting like nothing had happened, like this was a normal Thursday night, but she felt as though she didn't know which way was up. "Red," she managed, and he came back out to her carrying a bottle in one hand and a corkscrew and glasses in the other.

"I'll carry these," he said, "you bring the pizza." He headed back out to her hallway and she stared at him in confusion. "Come on," he said. "They're getting cold," and he turned to walk up the stairs.

Without really thinking, she wrapped the blanket around herself and picked up the pizza boxes. By the time she reached her bedroom Dempsey had opened the wine and was pouring a second glass. He was sitting in her bed, under her sheets, and she trailed a reluctant glance across his naked torso.

She swallowed as she saw his jeans lying on the floor near her feet.

He put the wineglass on the bedside table and pulled back the sheets. "Get over here," he said. "Starving."

On autopilot, she put the pizza boxes down and pulled climbed into the bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin, the blanket still firmly around her. She then wriggled out of the blanket and dropped it on the floor. She could sense Dempsey giving her a look but couldn't bring herself to meet his eye.

He passed her a wineglass. "Here," he said. "You look like you need it."

"Thanks," she mumbled, and took a deep slug. She handed the glass back to him and flopped down onto the mattress.

She ran her hands over her face. "Harry," he said, and she rolled onto her stomach, her face buried in the pillows. "Princess. Come on out. I got pizza."

Sighing, Harry pushed herself up to a sitting position, her back against the headrest, the sheet tucked under her armpits. What if she'd got it all wrong? What if he hadn't meant what she'd thought he meant? She took the slice of pizza he offered and took a bite, trying to cover her confusion. Then she remembered. Jabbing in his direction with the pizza, she said, "You stopped calling in."

He looked at her. "You wanna talk about work? Now?"

"You stopped calling in and it put you in danger. If I hadn't seen Spikings's note I wouldn't have known about Byrne."

Dempsey shuffled across the bed and seated himself alongside her. She smiled as she felt him press a soft kiss on her shoulder. "I'm glad you found out about Byrne," he said. "Glad you rescued me. Haven't said thanks but I am grateful."

She sighed. "I know that. We're partners, we've got each other's back. Or we would have, as long as you don't stop calling in."

He turned soft brown eyes on her. "Would it help if I told you I was sorry?"

"Maybe it would help if you told me why you stopped calling in," she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She was pretty sure she knew the reason but wanted to hear it from him.

It was Dempsey's turn to avoid her eye. "It was hard to catch you at home," he said into his wineglass.

"You'd been catching me at home for weeks, and then what? You suddenly couldn't? Had to go straight to Spikings instead?"

"Harry," he said, turning towards her, reaching for her but she batted his arm away.

"Don't 'Harry' me," she said. "We both know why you stopped calling in. You were sulking because you saw me with Jasper."

"I wasn't sulking," he said sulkily. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Jeez, Harry, c'mon. What do you want from me?"

"Some honesty would be a good start."

Dempsey drew up his knees and rested his arms on them, his head bent. "It was tough, the undercover gig. Jimmy O'Malley was a real slime ball, you know, a total punk. I was living the life of this guy, the horrible bedsit, the horrible friends, and I was hating it and I… I was missing this." He swept an arm around her room, then lowered his chin. "Missing you."

"Dempsey," she said, and he ran his fingers back and forth through his hair.

"And there you were, cosying up to this other guy, clearly not missing me at all." The corners of his mouth tugged down and he looked away.

Harry bit her lip. She turned a little so she could see him more clearly, placing a hand on the back of his shoulder. She curled her fingers, enjoying the feel of his warm skin beneath her hand. It didn't come easily, talking about her feelings. She didn't want give too much of herself away, but his slumped shoulders tugged at her.

"Dempsey," she said again, "James." He angled his head towards her. "I… Jasper's an old friend. An old flame. It was nothing, really."

His lips formed into a brief pout. "Didn't look like nothing."

Harry could feel her cheeks pinken. "Well, obviously not literally nothing. But nothing that mattered. Nothing like…" She waved her hand at the bed. "I was… well, lonely. It's funny you say I wasn't missing you because I was. And I couldn't have you, but he was there and he wanted me. I suppose I went with him because I couldn't be with you." She slipped her arm around his back and placed a kiss on his shoulder. She wanted him to understand. He'd taken a step towards her; perhaps she could meet him half way.

"I didn't like it," he said. "Seeing you with him. All the times I tried with you and got nowhere. And then when I needed you, there you were with someone else."

"I'm sorry you saw it," she said, "although you did only see it because you broke in."

"You gave me a key!"

"But James," she continued. "You saw one man. I've seen dozens of women."

"Yeah, but you didn't care."

A beat. "Didn't I?"

He looked up at that. He took her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Ancient history." He paused for a moment, squeezing her fingers, then said, "Last night. When you pushed me away. Why'd you do that?" His eyes were on the corner of the room and his hand moved to cover his mouth.

She shrugged a little, her own eyes at her toes. "I don't do this sort of thing often you know."

"Except with Jasper."

"I've explained about that," she said, waving a hand. Why did he keep going on about Jasper? "With you it's, well, it's different. We work together. If this is… Well, if it's just a meaningless roll in the hay for you, we'll have damaged our partnership and for nothing. You may as well go back to New York."

"That's it? That's why it went wrong, before?"

"Isn't it enough?"

He took her hand and entwined their fingers. "Babe, I told you. I want us to be together. I thought you didn't want that." His voice was deep and a little tentative. "Thought that you had someone else, you didn't want to be with me."

Harry smiled as the meaning of his words filtered through to her. She rested her chin on his shoulder. "You don't think that now though, do you?"

He turned his head to look at her, saw something in her eyes that caused the corners of his mouth to curl up. He dropped a kiss on her nose. "Might need some more persuading."

"Finish your pizza. You need to keep your strength up."

oOo

Next morning they arrived at the office together. Harry'd been worried – people might talk! – but Dempsey had rolled his eyes and reminded her that they arrived at the office together at least twice a week for the last two years and she'd never been able to stop 'em talking.

He'd walked along the corridor with her, his fingers brushing ever so slightly against the back of her hand, and he smiled as he thought about what those hands of hers could do. He'd reached the squad room door and pulled it open for her, grinning as she gave him her haughtiest glare, growling quietly as she brushed against him on her way through.

She went to her desk and he pulled up his chair, leaning back, hands clasped behind his head, legs stretched out, fully in her space. She picked up a file and thrust it at him. "Finish your report then send this to archive," she said sternly.

"Yes, Princess," he replied, "You want me to polish your silver while I'm at it? Got some brass knockers that need a rub?"

"Very classy." Her mouth pulled into a little moue and he had to hold himself back, they were at work and his plans for her mouth would have to wait until later. He opened the file and flicked through it. It dated from before the undercover job, he could barely remember the crime let alone what he needed to put in the report. He was about to try to wheedle some help from his partner when he heard Spikings' door open.

"A word," he said, staring at them. "Now, please."

They pushed out of their chairs and into Spikings's office. Spikings was back at his desk, his fingers drumming on his notepad, smoke from his cigarette curling from the ashtray. "Do either of you have anything you would like to tell me?"

Dempsey glanced at Harry and saw her staring at the desk, her cheeks turning pink. "Makepeace?" he said. "You got anything to tell the Boss?"

She turned and glared at him. He gave her his most innocent look in return. Spikings ran his hand over his head and sighed heavily. "Unless I'm mistaken, which I very rarely am, the pair of you seem to be back to what I suppose we must describe as normal."

"Sir," said Harry.

"So am I to assume that I have no actions to make on your behalf this morning? No references to write for CID? No transatlantic phone calls to our cousins over the pond?"

Dempsey could feel Harry clamming up alongside him. She valued her privacy above almost all else and this was treading very close to the personal. He took pity on her. "Nah," he said. "Think you're stuck with us just a bit longer."

Spikings stared at them. He had his suspicions but decided to proceed on a don't-ask-don't-tell basis. He waved a hand towards the door dismissing them and they turned gratefully away. Spikings watched as Dempsey pulled the door open for Harry, his hand sliding down from the door handle as she walked through, grazing her behind as it went. Spikings waited for the slapdown; when it didn't come, when it was replaced instead by a tiny raised eyebrow and a bite of a lip, he sighed and covered his smile with his hand.

oOo

Dawn light was washing through the thin blinds at her bedroom windows. She was lying on his chest, asleep. One of Dempsey's arms was going numb but he didn't try to move. He didn't want to disturb her. He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head, listening to the sound of her even breathing.

Jimmy O'Malley was a distant memory. James Dempsey was lying in bed with Harriet Makepeace and he never wanted to leave.

She stirred against him, her fingers moving sleepily against his chest and without thinking his arms tightened around her. He felt her lips pressing where her fingers had been, and she raised a tousled head to look up at him. "Lo," she said. "Times'it?"

"Still early, Princess. You can go back to sleep." He felt her soften back against his body as his fingers moved gently through her hair.

Last night, after work, they'd left together then picked up Chinese food and a bottle of white and taken them to Harry's place. They'd sat across from each other, eating noodles and ribs, chatting about Harry's cold cases and Dempsey's Irish job, smiling and drinking wine. She'd suggested they put on a video but they were in each other's arms before the adverts had finished playing. They made it upstairs, slowly, stopping for kisses every few steps. Kissing Harry had felt as natural as breathing, which figured as he needed her like oxygen.

It'd never been like that before. He'd been with a lot of women – although probably not as many as Harry would imagine – so it had come as a surprise that he could feel that way, that sex could be so intense and meaningful. He'd been in love once before, with Simone, and his youthful relationships had been passionate and affectionate, but nothing had moved him the way he'd felt making love to Harry. He only hoped she felt it too – the way she'd clung to him, nuzzled against him, looked into his eyes when he'd entered her – there was definitely a chance she felt it too.

**~The end~**

**AN: Hope you enjoyed this story, feedback is always welcome :)**


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